


Home is where the heart is

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: OR IS IT, Yavin, awkward people trying to be social with each other, flirting as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: So, this campaign could be improved by a few tactical air strikes. Would pretty the place right up.





	Home is where the heart is

 

 

Theron could have gone his whole life without setting a foot on Yavin 4.

At first glance it's alright. Forest-y. Green. The tips of stone pyramids give the whole thing a certain ambience. Once you’re dirtside, though, things start to get creepy. He hasn’t slept right in days.

 

(That every time he closes his eyes he is back in that cave, betrayal like copper on his tongue, is coincidence. Got nothing to do with his insomnia.

Theron wasn’t sure he would get out of Revan's clutches alive. There had been a moment. That’s… that’s all. More than enough, all told. Too much. Too close. Cut a touch too deep. _They were supposed to be a team._ )

Better, to keep an eye on the sprawling wilderness. Can’t have too many sentries, you never know what’s stalking the night around here.

_Case in point.  
_

The Wrath glides out of the mist like one of the  _real-life_ ghosts their patrols keep reporting. Theron manages to contain his flail to a twitch that hopefully covers for his _kriffing heart attack._ What the fuck. _How? Just- How?_ And in that outfit no less. “Hey there. Still up, huh?”

“So are you.”

Was that a deflection, a come-on or neither? Theron honestly can’t tell. The first sign that he’s more than a bit off his game, if that wasn’t a problem he was starting to get used to. “Just enjoying some fresh air.”

With around a hundred percent humidity. Walking alone had him drenched from the start and it's a toss up whether it’s sweat or dew. Either way, Theron hasn’t felt clean since he made planetfall. How the Sith survives in armor is anyone’s guess. _Dark Side voodoo. Or climate control._

… great, now he’s envious of a Sith’s wardrobe choices. The Wrath has been surprisingly alright as far as pint-sized megalomaniacs go but his _taste_ is definitely Sith-standard. Dramatic with a side of over-the-top.

_He makes it work, too._

Aaand that’s a train of thought that leads nowhere good, no matter how form-fitting Yon’s armor is or that his sense of humor could suck water from a Tatooine desert when he unbends enough to _have_ one. Not going there.

“It’s a very nice night out.” The teasing lilt sends a shiver down Theron’s spine. Just attraction. Natural. He takes advantage of that often enough to know that it means nothing, almost has himself convinced it doesn’t bother him at all, if the Sith didn't insist on keeping it _interesting_. Voice pitched low enough not to carry his uneasy acquaintance proves, once more, that he isn't as much of a bastard as Theron would like. “Are you alright?”

Really, his life would be so much easier if Yon didn’t sound like he actually gives a shit. _Does he? Is he just that good at pretending?_

Theron turns on the charm by rote and laughs. “Yeah.” He glances over at his companion not-quite bashfully. _Don’t stare. People notice that. Flirt, tease, invite them in on a joke. If you check along the way whether your mark is buying your druk… all the better._

Even without the mask the Wrath can be a hard read. Often he’s as inscrutable as if he hadn’t taken it off.

 

(Rarely, in private, Yon seems to forget he’s not wearing it, becomes so unguarded it almost hurts to look at him. Theron buries those moments as deep as he can.)

 

Today it’s the same. His nonchalance creaks a little under the strain, tacky as a too thick layer of make-up and feeling just as fake. Casually, the Sith averts his eyes.

 _Yeah, no takers._ But he’ll let it stand. If Theron needs it, he’ll let him have it. That strange combination of hypervigilance and courtesy is one of the things that keep reeling him in. He can’t stop worrying at the hook, waiting for the stalemate to tip over into prying or disinterest. So far, it hasn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t, no matter how long they play push and pull.

Another thing Theron tries not to think about. With a deep breath of entirely too wet air he deflates. “Yeah, no. I’m not alright. Nothing for it. What about you?”

As evasions go that was clumsy at best. Sometimes that’s the most honest the agent can make himself be, too used to lies being his first and best line of defence. There are too many dark holes hidden under the surface that he doesn't want anyone to see only a little more than he doesn't want to take a dive himself.

But it seems he's on to something, distracted as he is by his own problems. The Wrath is looking out into the night with that thousand yard stare Force users and soldiers alike are prone to. Here, now, it’s more than a little unnerving. “Yon?”

He blinks and Theron finds he can breathe a little easier. “Sorry.”

“Did you… feel something?”

“No,” he gives the agent a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Reminds me of home, that’s all.”

Home? This place? “My condolences.” _Open mouth, insert foot. Kriff._

As usual when Theron slips up and a little of _himself_ creeps out, not nearly as suave as his game-face, Yon lights up with surprise, then quiet laughter. It’s entirely too gratifying. Also over all too quickly, the contemplativeness creeping back. Like the man isn’t all there. Theron can take the sight for a hot minute, before his skin starts to crawl. “Hey, I’m about ready to turn in for the night. You coming?”

That innuendo might or might not have been accidental. The important part is that it draws Yon's eyes away from the treeline, expression shading into sly amusement. “I could be convinced.”

… _screw it._

“I can be convincing.”

“Oh, my. Is that true? I'm not sure I can condone such measures, agent Shan.”

“Smartass.”

"That's Lord Smartass, thank you very much."

Theron's turn to turn a laugh into a cough because you're not supposed to find your enemy's terrible jokes funny. Maybe it’s not the best idea. Yon’s Sith. They are stuck on a planet from hell, surrounded by enemies. Theron’s _mother_ is literally a tent row away and can _read minds_.

But… well. Theron knows a thing or two about _home_. Most days he’s lucky enough to forget about them.

 

 


End file.
